Winter Solitude
by owlofathena
Summary: Hermione walks alone in the school grounds during early winter. Hints at mild MMHG.


_Author's Note: _

_Another short fic. I'm rather stuck at the moment on the third chapter of A Discernable Difference, so I made up this in a day as a much-needed update to my account to prove that I'm not dead._

* * *

The lake was frozen over with ice, gleaming in the afternoon sun that peeked through the dull grey clouds. The black tree-boughs were heavy with the newly fallen snow; winter had come later than usual this year but with as much force as ever.

The crackling of autumn leaves had been replaced with the crunching and creaking of moist snow beneath her feet. Her woolen scarf had come unbound from her neck, one of the ends fanning out behind her in the slight breeze. She hadn't bothered to stop and re-wind it around her neck, the warmth of the sun provided enough of a barrier to keep the chill off of her skin.

Ah. Sun. That was the last step.

'And divide the potion into three measured containers and set out in the sunlight for no less than five revolutions of the sand-timer before immersing each into a separate cauldron,' she said aloud to the stillness of the white forest, her breath visible in the cold air.

_But what type of sand-timer was she supposed to be using?_

Hermione stopped mid-step. Half an hour? Three hours?

She was _sure_ it had had a three in it.

The woman looked up at the nearest white-blanketed oak, frowning at the tree as if the woody dicot was to blame for her memory lapse. An owl nestled in a hole in the trunk peered back down at her through slitted eyes, fluffing its feathers in indignation at having been spotted.

It couldn't be three minutes, could it?

Hermione resumed walking towards the lake, hands shoved deep into her coat pockets to warm up her chilled fingers. It wasn't often that her mind refused to give her the correct answer. And she'd been sure that walking alone, free from the distractions of the dormitory and its perpetually boisterous inhabitants would provide her with perfect environment for recall.

Sundays were, by far, the loudest days of the week. Snape's ridiculously difficult potions test for the seventh-years was tomorrow and her fellow classmates had suddenly realized that they were in serious danger of flunking their Potions class if they didn't catch up on seven weeks of studying by Monday. Ron and Harry were in this compromising position (really, she _had_ warned them repeatedly about the approaching test) and had declined her assistance in preparing for it.

Hermione had arrived at the shoreline of the lake, a rocky outcropping facing the castle on the far side of the water. The steep hills dropped straight into the dark depths with no beach to separate the two, with only the odd ledge of rough hewn granite breaking the repetition of smooth cliff. She walked to the edge of the lake, careful not to slip on the icy-patches and partially melted snow that the sun had softened. It was a bit chilly for a swim.

It was several moments before she noticed the cat lying on a large rock not ten feet away, sunning itself with its eyes closed.

A thought struck her.

'Professor McGonagall?' she said tentatively, after a moment's internal debate over whether to disturb the animal from its rest.

The cat turned its head to look at Hermione, the tip of its tail twitching as it rolled onto its haunches. A moment later, there was a muffled pop similar to that of a wizard apparating, and a composed Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts was sitting serenely on the rock where the cat had been only mere seconds earlier.

'Miss Granger.'

Hermione backed up a pace, heat rising in her cheeks.

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude.'

'Not at all,' the dark-eyed professor said mildly, 'I was merely enjoying the silence.'

Not quite comprehending this statement, the younger woman looked at the witch for clarification.

'Professor Dumbledore claimed that I was working too hard and refused to leave until I had vacated my office,' the tall woman elaborated, inclining her head in the direction of the castle. 'I escaped and came here to avoid the inevitable berating that he would have given me had he learned that I spent the whole of last night marking papers.'

At this, Professor McGonagall stood and stretched, her slender frame arching upwards in a movement that was eerily reminiscent of her feline form.

'Aren't you cold?' Hermione blurted out, marveling that her slim teacher was able to maintain a normal thermal temperature in her robes without the protection of a cloak or jacket.

Dark eyes met her own, clearly amused.

'This is a gentle winter compared to others we've received in Scotland, Miss Granger.'

A sudden rush of cold air from across the lake blew Hermione's hair across her face and shot through her clothes, sending a sharp chill straight into her bones. The Gryffindor seventh-year shivered, the tail-end of her scarf dancing wildly as it was seized by the wind.

Walking over to her pupil, Professor McGonagall caught the loose end of Hermione's scarf and, very gently, wrapped the thick cloth back around the young woman's exposed neck, carefully avoiding trapping any of the curling strands of hair that were whipping around them.

'It wouldn't do for you to catch a cold, Miss Granger,' the Scottish witch whispered into Hermione's ear as she tucked the end of the scarf into the top of her student's coat. 'I wouldn't want you to miss one of my classes, would I?'

A warm flush rose in the brunette's cheeks. Heat seemed to be radiating from the area of Hermione's chest where Professor McGonagall's hand was still resting.

The corners of the taller woman's mouth tilted upwards briefly, her dark eyes dancing at the look on Hermione's face. With one last nod at her student, Professor McGonagall turned and began treading gracefully across the snow-covered rock, disappearing into the gathering flurries of snow, her long robes swirling about her slender frame.

Hermione stood at the edge of cliff for several minutes before shaking her head to clear it of confusing thoughts. Giving up her potions review as a lost cause, she made her way back up the sloping grounds to the castle, her mind full of sand-timers, scarves and low murmurs in her ear.


End file.
